Mummy Lulu lifts her penciled eyebrows. “You heard of David Carradine?” She picks up a Menglembu groundnut from a two-tiered plastic platter, cracks the brittle skin and tosses the seeds into her mouth. The first tier of the platter overflows with Menglembu roasted groundnuts; the second, Shandong roasted groundnuts.
I shift my weight on the upholstered bench. “Yeah, the Kung Fu TV series actor.” A waitress brings me my Asahi Super Dry, opens the bottle and departs. “Why suddenly you talk about David Carradine?” I fill my glass with beer. “Died in a Bangkok hotel, fifteen years ago.”
Mummy Lulu and I are tucked in a booth halfway between the door of Hot Legs Niteclub and the narrow hallway leading to the restrooms in back. It is Happy Hours and Mike, the mustachioed-cum-bearded bartender, is whistling while polishing mugs with a terry cloth.
“No worries, the hotel closed five years back.” I tackle a Shangdong groundnut. “I can hear crock crock in my ears, good stuff. But Menglembu has a milder burnt aroma. Pagoda brand?”
“Yep.” Mummy Lulu grabs a handful of Shangdong groundnuts and drops them in front of her. She sits upright and starts to crack the nuts. “You know in what condition was David found?” The vertical lines between the funky lady’s brows deepen. “Inside a closet, hands tied above his head, cords around his neck and genitals. He was wearing fishnet stockings and a dark wig. A piece of woman’s lingerie was also found on his bed.” The mama-san spreads her mottled hands, their fingers varnished fire-engine red, her mouth dropping open. “What the fuck was he doing with those clothes? His embarrassed family invented a theory that David was possibly murdered by the Thai mafia and—by extension— dressed up in those clothes by his killers. Baloney.” Big, horsey reveal themselves as Mummy chomps on the seeds with a firm clamp of her jaw. “His ex-wives Gail Jensen and Marina Anderson later revealed that David had a history of performing kinky sex acts, and had often bought sex toys. Shosana Arazy, the owner of his regular sex store, confirmed that David had several back orders which had not been collected.”“Never judge an apple by its outer skin. Inside, may have worms.”
Mummy Lulu suddenly hacks, picks up a shot glass and upends it, draining it dry. “You kinky, Ewe?” She delivers a few slaps to her chest with a flat palm. “Ahem, ahem.”
“Straight as a ruler. Why you ask?” I study the mama-san’s face, almost counting the number of wrinkles on her forehead. “What about you?”
“On its fringes, but I harbour a must-do kinky fantasy though.”
“BDSM?”
“I fantasize performing autoerotic asphyxia on a partner by smothering my gnarled, shaved pussy on him. I’d love to sit on his face until he near-suffocates to death. And that man must be a writer—not any other profession.”
“Eeeeeek!” The muscles in my throat convulse several times before I’m able to speak. “What’re you implying?” I jolt upright in my seat. “Mother of God, it’s risky. In the USA, about 500 deaths are reportedly yearly because of autoerotic asphyxia gone wrong.” I gesture towards the bartender with a jerk of my head. Why don’t you try Mike? It may be ticklish, though.”
Mummy Lulu fist-bumps me with a grin, and my grin matches hers.
/end
